


1779

by BookNerd94



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, I live life on the edge, No Beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookNerd94/pseuds/BookNerd94
Summary: While out on a walk, washington and Hamilton encounter redcoats and have to fight.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1779

The sun beat down on Washington and Hamilton as they walked silently through the Forrest. That morning, Washington had approached Alexander’s desk and interrupted his letter to congress. Apparently there was a spot that would better suit the army’s base and Washington wanted Alexander to join him in surveying the land.

The walk had been silent for the most part, Washington enjoying the sights and sounds of nature, Hamilton preoccupied with words and ideas swirling around in his brain like leaves in a storm. The pleasant walk didn’t last for long however, because about a mile and a half away from camp the two men heard a snap. Both heads shot up, pistols at the ready in case it was more than a deer or other wild animal.

“Sir stay behind me” Alexander said with misplaced confidence. Stifling a laugh at the fact this boy of 17 and no more than 5 foot 6 inches at the most thought he was going to shield Washington’s tall form. Washington was a head above the boy, maybe more.

“Alexander, get behind me and don’t argue. Keep your eyes open and stay low.”

“Sir, I really must-“

“Now Alexander”

They seemed to be in the clear after a few minutes. Washington almost gave the order to carry on their journey when they hear the sound of footsteps to the right. Before Washington could give an order, Hamilton rushed forward. That boy was going to get himself killed! Washington ran, trying in vain to keep up with the boy only to lose sight of him. His heart skipped a beat when he heard Alexander shouting, followed by a grunt of pain. The silence was deafening. 

“Alexander!” Washington screamed, desperate to reach the young man he thought of as a son. Rounding the corner of a dense group of trees, Washington saw it. His aide was prone on the ground with two redcoats above him. One was aiming his flintlock at Alexander’s head while the other was kicking the boy in the ribs. Alexanders head was bleeding from what looked like a smack and his face was slack. For a moment Washington believed him dead until he saw the faint rise and fall of Hamilton’s chest.

Thank the lord. 

Quick as he could Washington shot one redcoat and ran towards the other one with his knife. The brief struggle between the two men felt like hours, only ending when Washington stabbed the solider in the neck and killed him. Not even pausing to catch his breath Washington stumbled to his aide and surrogate son. 

“Alexander?” No response Shaking his shoulders, the general tried again.

“Alexander, please open your eyes!” Again no response. Washington weighed out his options and eventually decided that a mile and a half was not too far to carry his aide, and lifted Alexander in his arms. Slightly appalled at how little the boy weighed Washington resolved to force him to eat more, even if there was hardly enough food to go around. The general suspected the young man had been skipping meals in favour of working more. That would have to stop. 

The walk back lacked any quiet enjoyment of nature or swirling ideas that the first trip held. Instead, it was simply Washington focused on his aid, searching for any sign of waking. He was so focused in fact, that Washington didn’t even notice the were back at camp until the sentries stopped him.

“Halt! Who goes there?” The sentry obviously had spent little time with his general.

“I am general Washington, and I have an injured colonel. Let me through now.” The last part might not have been loud, but it held just as much weight as if it had been screamed. The young solider paled several shades and let them pass. Washington wasted no time running to the medical tent, laying Alexander on a cot. Much to his dismay, the general was immediately ushered out of the tent so the doctor could focus solely on Alexander. 

After about an hour of Washington trying to distract himself with work, despite the fact he had been staring at the same massive for the last 30 minutes, a solider summoned him to the medical tent. The sight Washington was greeted with took his breath away for the best possible reason. His boy was sitting up and awake, quietly talking to his friend John Laurens. Upon seeing Washington Laurens stood to attention and left, so as to give Alexadner time to talk to his general.

Walking up to the cot and sitting on the stool by the head, Washington finally got a good look at the young man. The blood was gone from Alexander’s head, a large bandage firmly in its place. Alexander peered up at Washington through half lidded eyes, and the sharp look that usually accompanied their gaze was gone. Only a tired glassy appearance resided in his violet eyes. Alexanders red hair was a mess with half of the queue out. This was a stark contrast from the put together boy that had wormed his way into Washington’s heart long ago.

Washington gave a fond smile as Alexander attempted a salut, only to end up smacking his eye.

“Your excellency sir, I apologise for not standing upon your arrival. I am a bit unsteady on my feet at the moment.”

“It’s perfectly fine son. How are you feeling? You took quite a blow to the head.” Hamilton looked somewhat confused by this, but answered nonetheless. 

“I am a bit dizzy, but if you bring me my work I will be perfectly fine to continue.” Washington would have been substantially more impressed had Alexander been able to focus those violet blue eyes on his face for the thirty seconds it took him to reply. As it was, Alexander looked half asleep. Washington doubted the boy would be able to hold a quill, let alone write endless letters.

“Alexander, do you remember what happened?” At the aides small shake of his head Washington continued. “Son we were almost to a possible new campsite when we heard redcoats. I told you to stay behind me, but you ran ahead. By the time I got to you, the British had knocked you senseless and were about to shoot you. I was able to fight the kill them both, but you didn’t awaken until we got back. I want to be angry with you, but as it stands I’m just happy to see you awake and responsive.”

By the time Washington was done Alexander looked seconds away from sleep. As his eyes drifted close, Washington heard a soft “sorry father” so soft he almost missed it. Brushing a stray tear away the general stood and left, knowing his boy was in good hands. 

A week after the incident Alexander was at his desk, writing away. Washington would never admit it to his aide, but the week Alexander was gone sleeping off his injury was the most boring week of Washington’s life. He was glad his son was safe.


End file.
